Chapter Thirty Seven No Tears #2
Maybe this isn’t me spiraling like I thought I was for a second when the thought first came into my mind. Maybe it’s me finally choosing myself, owning what I want for myself for once.
For now, this stays between me and Arina—our little secret sealed in the hum of her car.
It’s dangerous and reckless. But the more I picture it, the hotter it burns. The thrill coils tight in my stomach, a fire I can’t shake.
I shouldn’t want to strip this bad. But… I do.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Afterglow
F
or someone who’s lived here for most of their life, it never seems to amaze me how little of this town I’ve actually seen.
I’ve been circling the same blocks, the same faces, and the same tired routines—until now.
These sexy-ass brothers have us cruising through the rich sides of town like I’m not wildly out of place.
Just because Arina drives this nice ass Mercedes I hope they don’t get the wrong impression of us—me.
I’m not a fancy or expensive type of girl. I never have been. Though I wouldn’t mind becoming apart of their expensive lifestyles. I just hope it doesn’t come with a price I can’t afford emotionally.
Pulling up to the breakfast spot feels like stepping into a different world.
The modern building with all glass walls framed in black steel, already whispering money before I even touch the door handle.
The valet line glints with foreign cars polished to perfection.
At the entrance, two hostesses in fitted black uniforms wait with those practiced smiles that look warm but cost a paycheck to perfect.
It’s a different kind of pretty. Sharp and untouchable.
And all I can think is—these men have taste. The thought twists through me, half nerves, half thrill.
As Arina pulls up to the valet and we step out, my gaze catches the three of them standing at the entrance. And God—they look irresistible. Dangerous even.
The kind of sexy that grabs your attention and doesn’t on ever giving it back.
Saint holds himself like temptation sculpted with bad intentions, his white button-up stretching over broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to spotlight the veined strength running down his forearms. Dark gray slacks fall and his black dress shoes gleaming like he owns the ground beneath him.
A single earring flashes when he moves, but it’s the gold chain resting against his collarbone that gets me—it’s simple, yet unfairly sexy.
Cairo leans like seduction itself, casual but lethal.
His burgundy sweater vest hugs his frame over a fitted black tee, dark denim molded perfectly, his maroon Jordans spotless.
The Cuban link on his chest glints heavy, but it’s not the shine that catches me—it’s his emerald eyes burning into me.
His hands may stay tucked in his pockets, but everything about him radiates control, that quiet warning that if he ever got me alone, it wouldn’t be gentle.
And honestly—my needs in that area, needs more than gentle sometimes.
Then there’s King.
His navy V-neck clings to every defined cut of his chest and arms, light jeans sitting just right on his hips. A gold pinky ring flashes when he lifts his hand, but his eyes never once flicker to me—they’re locked on Arina. Devouring her with every step she takes.
Saint and Cairo’s eyes find me the long before I step in front of them. Their stares are so intense it feels like my sundress slides right off under the weight of it. We’re not even inside yet, and already the air feels thick enough to swallow.
King grins the moment we reach them, pulling Arina in like she already belongs to him. His arm snakes around her waist, his lips brushing her cheek—then finding her mouth. The kiss lingers just long enough to blur into a growl, his voice dropping low against her lips.
“Fuck… I knew you’d look good this morning,” he murmurs, his breath hot against her skin, “but I wasn’t ready for you looking like something I want to bend over and taste right here—in front of everybody.”
Arina laughs, swatting lightly at his chest, but her eyes give her away. Her hand drifts lower, brushing against the hard length straining in his jeans—quick enough to look playful, but bold enough to make him grin.
Saint doesn’t hesitate. His arm hooks around my waist, yanking me into him, laughter buzzing around us but fading the second I feel his body against mine. His lips brush my cheek, his deep voice dropping low. “You look better than the food on the menu.”
His mouth captures mine in a slow, claiming kiss that leaves my pulse uneven—long enough for Cairo to chuckle, low and wicked.
Cairo pulls me from Saint and turns me with a knowing hand at my waist, guiding me until I’m facing him, his green eyes roaming over me and darkening with every second he takes me in. He hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my face to meet the hunger burning in his eyes.
“Sexy and punctual,” he teases, pressing a heated kiss to my lips. His breath lingers when he adds, “I like a woman who shows up ready to be devoured.”
Inside, the hostess leads us past polished tables and gleaming chandeliers, weaving us through the hum of low conversations until we reach a large corner booth.
It’s tucked away just enough to feel private but open enough to still command the room.
The tinted window next to us softens the sunlight into a warm, purple hue.
The booth curves wide, the smooth brown leather hugging the wall like it was built for moments that shouldn’t be seen.
The table gleams—a deep tan polished to perfection, a single candle flickering in the center.
Above, a chandelier drips in gold, casting light that dances over skin and glass, making the whole space feel magical.
The view from the table dominates the room, the kind of spot you only get if you’re someone of importance—and I can’t help but wonder which one of them pulled off these reservations.
King slides in first, patting the space beside him for Arina, while Saint and Cairo motion for me to take the seat between them.
The weight of their stares turning a simple motion into something that easily feels like foreplay.
I slide into the booth and can’t help but feel like this is a date.
A real one—except instead of one guy to impress, I’ve signed up for two.
No wonder my brain is short-circuiting.
If you would have asked me yesterday what I expected the morning after to look like—it wouldn’t have been this. I wouldn’t have imagined them making reservations at a place like this, pulling us into hugs and kisses in broad daylight like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
This is not the story you hear when your friends say they met some guys at a strip club.
But then again, last night wasn’t about them.
It was about me—about me finally letting go, about wanting something even if it wasn’t love. With Saint and Cairo all the pain I’ve been carrying, easily evaporates.
And I don’t regret it for a second.
Still, I don’t know what it is. I’m not delusional enough to think sex or their good looks can rewrite history or fix the parts of me that ache when the lights go out.
I’m not here looking for forever—and I doubt they are either.
I’m just curious where this will all go.
Sleeping with both of them doesn’t make me crave commitment—it just makes me crave the thrill of what real adult freedom feels like.
And right now that’s all I want—nothing more and nothing less.
Especially with the thought of being a stripper looping in the back of my mind.
I can already see it—the stage lights cutting across my skin, turning me into something untouchable.
The bass vibrating through me with every sway of my hips.
The money raining down, soft paper kisses against my bare skin.
Star and Light showed me the blueprint last night—the way they commanded the room like they owned the fucking air in it.
Their minds sharp, their bodies confident, and the look in their eyes that told everyone exactly how much they’re worth.
Even our men ate it up. They weren’t even paying attention to the performance and still dropped stacks for them.
I break the silence, glancing around the table, keeping my tone casual but laced with curiosity. “So,” I start, tracing the rim of my glass, “how do you guys all know each other?”
Cairo leans forward, his grin easy and smooth. “I met Saint my freshman year at Morris Brown.”
My brows lift before I can stop them. Morris Brown? That’s not just some regular-ass college. It’s one of the oldest HBCUs in Georgia—it’s been around since the 1800s—and the first one actually owned and run by Black folks. You don’t just get accepted in there unless you’ve got something to offer.
I glance between them, my curiosity sharpening. These men aren’t just smooth talkers with money and good dick—they’re educated. And somehow that makes them a lot more attractive.
Suddenly, Cairo’s confidence feels earned, not performed. And the way Saint carries himself, the quiet control in his movements—it all clicks. That’s the kind of man who knows exactly who he is and what the hell he brings to the table.
Arina’s brows shoot up. “Y’all went to Morris Brown? All of you?” Her eyes turning from one to the other, before landing on King.
“Yeah,” King said, grinning. “I met Saint when I was a freshman too.”
Saint leans back, “yeah—I met them both my sophomore year. Even though Cairo was a freshman, they still made him my roommate at the Towers after my old one got expelled.”
Cairo chuckles, nodding his head. “And we’ve been brothers ever since. King was a freshman with me, and we knew each other ‘cause of this girl we both were messing with.”
King groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, that bitch was a hoe. I still can’t believe I was tryna make her my girlfriend for real.”